Flying's a Lot Like Falling
by weep1ngangel
Summary: When a girl known by Sherlock, but a mystery to John, shows up at 221B's doorstep, let's just say all of the things you assume would happen between a girl and Sherlock do happen. John is extremely puzzled as to why there is such a strain and so much built-up tension between Sherlock and Wendy. Sherlock x OC, rated M for profanity and violence, maybe sexual nature


It was an ordinary day for the residents of 221B Baker Street; Sherlock continued to peer through his microscope upon the kitchen table at some mysterious green liquid that John was afraid to identify. John Watson tried his hardest to remain relaxed in the living room upon his own chair, reading the newspaper, hoping to find something that may interest Sherlock in order to stop his strange experimenting that Sherlock was only doing to ease his own boredom. Sherlock had been doing this for nearly a week, all because Lestrade still had not called them about a single case. However, John was having no such luck in finding something interesting. Sighing, he set the papers on the coffee table.

"Sherlock, I am dreadfully afraid to ask, but what the hell is that green liquid?"

"Just trust me this time, John. Although you may believe yourself to not be afraid of anything because of your past experience with…gruesome situations, it is better that you do not know." Sherlock replied monotonously. John furrowed his brow and chose not to let his curiosity kill him or his appetite.

"Actually, could you grab my phone for me?" Sherlock asked, but it was definitely more of a command. John whipped his head around to look at the mad detective.

"Your phone is right next to you. Why should I get it?"

"Just get it, John. This is important. Mycroft is about to text me."

"How would you know th- Ugh, never mind." John got up from his comfortable spot and walked into the kitchen. He picked up the phone and right as he had picked it up, it vibrated. John was a little surprised, but not really. John's shock at his friend's otherworldly ability had begun to diminish over time.

"Now read the text to me." Sherlock asked, still staring intently into the microscope.

"He was beginning to not be so shocked at his friend's otherworldly ability.

"Now read the text to me." Sherlock asked, still staring intently into the microscope.

"Has anyone told you lately how frustrating your laziness can possibly be?" John grumbled, slightly to himself.

"Actually, I wouldn't considering it laziness, due to the fact that I am actually working on an experiment at the moment and my mind is quite occupied with another task that which I am much more interested in and also must participate in thoroughly, meaning my brain is at work and laziness would mean that-"

"Oh, shut up. The text says…knock knock?" John read out questioningly.

A knock sounded upon the front door. Sherlock smirked. He knew exactly who it was. How long had it been? He bounded down the stairwell and, after composing himself for a nanosecond, opened the front door.

The wintry air was not really a warm welcome for Wendy Morrison. She had not missed the cold weather of England. Living in America definitely made her a happier person for a period and now her numb toes inside her boots reminded her that this place was a shithole. She had never liked it here. She despised the fact that she had to come back here. However, there was nowhere else; there was nobody else. Wendy Morrison was alone in the world.

Wendy hailed a cab after she had stepped out of the airport with her one suitcase that reminded her how sad it was that all of her belongings could fit in one small suitcase. She told the cabbie the address. Trees and many other blurred figures passed by, figures that Wendy barely seemed to notice. Since September 28, life had been bleak. Everything in life was boring. Nothing entertained her any longer. People bored her. She decided that living on the streets in New York City was not a fond idea of hers anymore and that she must return to England, whether she liked it or not. Although a 'friend' of hers tried extremely hard to convince Wendy to just be a prostitute and get an income of sorts, Wendy was disgusted. She had stooped low before; sometimes she thought she had stooped the lowest a person could possibly go. But prostitution? Absolutely out of the question.

The cab slowed to a stop outside the place. This was it. The place was not out of character for the resident, but it was not quite in character either. Wendy shrugged and handed the driver a wad of bills. She thanked him and dragged her suitcase along with her, up to the concrete stairs with the metal railing. She pulled out a folded sheet of notebook paper with an address written poorly on it. It was readable for her only. She took a deep breath and walked up the stairs. Her eyes closed for a moment, wishing this situation was not about to happen, hoping this could all be a dream and when she opened her eyes open again, she would not see the wooden door in front of her but a head of familiar blonde hair and a warm smile staring back at her. She hoped the blonde-haired woman would then say to her 'Wendy, now is not the time to be in la-la land I believe." Wendy would smirk at the woman. They would both laugh it off. Wendy would be happy.

She instead opened her eyes to the front door now standing open and Sherlock Holmes' piercing blue eyes staring at her. Wendy had forgotten for just a moment that this was no longer the welcoming area of San Diego, California. She was not facing a gorgeous beach with water that gripped onto the sand for moments and then proceeded to wash away. There was no horizon that stretched on for miles, one that used to bring a smile to her face every morning without fail. No. Wendy could actually feel the irritating aura of Sherlock Holmes standing in front of her. He was smirking. Why was he smirking? How could he possibly be smirking? It's been ages since the last time I saw him…

"Nine years." Sherlock mumbled. His voice had not changed since he was a teenager. He always had the deep, monotonous voice. His hair had not changed either. In fact, nothing particularly looked different from teenage Sherlock compared to Sherlock now. The only things that stood out to her were his build (she could definitely tell he had started running.) She knew it was not because he was an athlete now though. No, Sherlock had never been an athlete in high school. He was not a band geek either. He did not like theater (he considered it to be dreadfully boring). People had not considered Sherlock Holmes a brainiac either. Of course, every night he had plunged himself into his studies and his books, digesting pages of information in little under a few minutes. However, Sherlock chose not to speak in class, mostly because he had learned his lesson when he was younger. Mummy dearest forcing Sherlock to go to catholic school had been one of her fatal mistakes. He acted out frequently for many years. He talked back. He showed off his superior intellect in class numerous times. The teachers all hated him. The kids all hated him. They thought him to be the weird one. So Sherlock shut everybody out.

"Hm?" I asked.

"Nine years. Since we last saw each other." He cleared his throat. Awkward. I forced a smile.

"I've missed you so much. I thought I should visit."

"Uh huh, yes. That is precisely the reason, especially considering you have a suitcase with you. While I could consider the thought of you moving to London and you decided to stop by and inform me of the information, the thought would be false, considering your swollen eyes. Judging by the redness, I would believe you were crying two hours ago, when you were still on the airplane. How I can tell you were on an airplane two hours ago? Oh, well first, the ear buds you have hanging out of your coat pocket are a brand specifically sold on airplanes. No store actually sells them. All income of the media company comes from the airlines buying up the ear buds to hand out on their airplanes. Perhaps you were just stopping by before you went to your new apartment or house. No. Because I can tell precisely by the scent of your perfume that you recently borrowed it from a friend and that it is not yours. In all honesty, the perfume is strictly for prostitutes, so I am assuming that in New York you befriended a prostitute recently. Judging by your intense glare upon your face right now, you admire the girl. Oh, how adorable. You are friends with a prostitute and think of her to be a nice, genuine woman. You want to protect her, only because she was your first and only friend in New York during the time you stayed there, which I would guess you resided there for a little over a week. You moved to New York because you lost somebody, a friend very close to your heart. Your best friend, perhaps? Her own brother murdered her. You are hesitant to talk to me because of this. Even as teenagers, you and I quarreled but you always thought of me as your brother. An annoying brother, but still your brother. I was your only family. You loved me. Of course you loved me, considering Mycroft is not a valid person to love with his personality and all. My personality? Insane, mad, irritating. But also eccentric, interesting, occasionally kind. This is why you are here. Your best friend was murdered and now you have forced yourself to come here because for years you have shoved both Mycroft and me away because you felt that you did not need our presence. You figured you are a big girl now that you can get by on your own and you have always been happy without us. Now you are here. Are you beginning to rethink your idea of moving in with me, because I believe you know my answer." Sherlock said casually.

Tears threatened to spill down Wendy's face. She could not even muster a glare at the man. He had nonchalantly deducted her entire existence, spanning from her years with the Holmes' to her most recent years. He did not even care if it hurt her. She could not reply. A large lump formed in her throat sometime during Sherlock's rant. Sherlock smiled. He proceeded to slam the door in her face, not in anger, but in annoyance. Then the tears fell. Wendy frantically wiped at her eyes, wondering what the hell just happened.

John was beginning to wonder what was taking Sherlock so long. It had been a little over five minutes since the short blonde man had last seen his face. The man walked over to the top of the staircase and heard Sherlock's voice. Then John saw the girl that stood outside, listening to Sherlock talk. If John had never talked to Sherlock and never knew anything about the man, John would think of the conversation as just a man talking to a woman. Nothing odd. However, John did know the detective very well. And he knew that if he were indeed talking to a woman, the conversation would not be pretty. John reassessed the situation and could see the menacing glare on the girl's face, along with her bottom lip quivering as she tried her hardest not to cry. Sherlock stopped speaking and slammed the door in the poor girl's face. John gaped in horror and ran down the stairs. He slapped Sherlock in the back of the head. Sherlock looked confused for a moment and then rubbed the back of his head.

"What was that for?"

"Are you an idiot?" John asked. John shook his head in disbelief and opened the door once again.

"Jesus, hello. I apologize on the behalf of my roommate. He's a bit of a lunatic and often doesn't know what he's saying. He doesn't have a filter that lets him realize what he's saying is completely stupid. My name's John, you are?" Wendy smiled at him warmly and shook his hand.

"I'm Wendy Morrison. I am aware of Sherlock's personality, trust me. I was just hoping he would be a little more, uh…welcoming?"

"Obviously you are not aware of his personality if you think he would _ever _be welcoming." John chuckled.

"Well, it's been a while since Sherlock and I last met."

"You know Sherlock?" John raised his eyebrows. Sherlock talking to a woman that wasn't Donovan or Mrs. Hudson? This was new. Sherlock had never mentioned a girl named Wendy. John was slightly confused.

"Sherlock's never said anything about me? I guess I'm not that surprised…", Wendy trailed off, "we haven't spoken for a long time." Sherlock scoffed behind John.

"I don't mention you because your needy personality has always irritated me. Also, your intelligence could be improved." Sherlock said. Wendy's face contorted into one of complete rage.

"Sherlock, you dropped out of college after attending for merely a week. All of the funds your father left for us to make use of, you took it all and wasted it. I wanted to go to college. However, nobody gave me the fucking chance. All because of you. You ruined my life." Wendy growled. John could feel the wrath radiating from Wendy. He stepped into between the two of them and smiled.

"How about we have some tea? A good cup of tea calms everybody down…Mrs. Hudson!" John called. Mrs. Hudson suddenly appeared in an apron with oven gloves on.

"What's all of the ruckus about?" Mrs. Hudson walked in hurriedly.

"Could you make all three of us some tea? Everybody needs to just cool down."

"I've told you and Sherlock both a thousand times that I'm your landlady, not your housekeeper. But since we have a very lovely guest here, I would be glad to. What is your name, dear?" Mrs. Hudson grinned. Wendy shook hands with Mrs. Hudson.

"I'm Wendy Morrison. Actually, I think I should probably just leave. Sherlock doesn't want me here. Thank you so much though. It was a pleasure meeting the both of you." Wendy began to edge her way out the door.

"Nonsense. Sherlock, you mind your manners. Come on in, sweetheart." Mrs. Hudson pulled Wendy out of the doorway and into her kitchen. Sherlock had a look of great disdain upon his face. And Sherlock rarely showed his own emotions. Something was clearly wrong between this girl and Sherlock, John decided. John rubbed his forehead in frustration. He supposed he must get to the root of the problem. But with Sherlock, a problem wasn't just a problem. It had to be a situation that turned into him replying in a casual way that only further infuriated John and usually made John end up screaming at Sherlock and leaving their home for a few hours. It was going to be a while.


End file.
